


Deserve

by Clover_Thymes



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Mentions of other Turks, Neurodivergent Reno, Other, mentions of self harm, no longer implied he just Is Now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:54:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28142688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clover_Thymes/pseuds/Clover_Thymes
Summary: Reno comes home and simmers in his own thoughts.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Deserve

**Author's Note:**

> So. Uh.
> 
> This fic was born because I had a bit of a meltdown when trying to make dinner and I kinda started falling into an unpoggers negative spiral and then I thought "I Am Going To Push My Mental Issues Onto Fictional Characters Again To Cope". And then I did.  
> Also the tags say neurodivergent Reno because I'm nd and this is me projecting onto Reno so I hit him with the neurodivergentification beam by accident and said “Mm! Damn! That shit good!”  
> Please heed the tags, the gorey descriptions are kind of towards the end of the fic. Be safe <3

He opens his apartment door. Doesn’t look at his hand covered in bandages stained with blood.

Even with the air freshener, he can still smell smoke.

He rips his goggles over his head and chucks them to the side. He hears a thunk and the sound of breaking glass. He can’t bring himself to care.

His suit is starting to get uncomfortable to be in. Actually, he realizes, it’s been uncomfortable for the past 30 minutes. He only just now processed it.

He’s also hungry. And thirsty. And sore pretty much everywhere.

To anyone else, the solution is easy. “ _Oh, I’m feeling hungry. I’ll go fix something to eat. Oh, I’m thirsty, I’ll also get some water. Oh, I’m sore, I’ll take some pain meds and run a bath._ ”

It’s so easy for anyone else.

In his head, it’s a different conversation. Like right now.

“ _I’m hungry._ ”

“ _So are the kids in the slums whose parents you murdered. They don’t have the luxury of eating a meal, so why should you?_ ”

“ _I’m thirsty._ ”

“ _Of course you are, you have the privilege of drinking unpolluted water. Which, by the way, was sullied by_ your _hands._ ”

“ _I’m sore._ ”

“ ** _Good. Hurt more._** ”

It’s that nagging voice in his head. It’s sadistic, heartless, cruel, evil, whatever synonyms he can come up with. It has catlike eyes that stare down at him with an inhumanly wide grin, looking at him like a predator looks at its prey in the winter.

It's what the people think a Turk is.

He channels it during his job, when he needs to be cruel, when he needs to ignore the pained cries and needs to ignore how his heart cries out in return because he’s a Turk, he has a job and he needs to do it.

Then he comes home, and the mask falls off his face and shatters onto the floor, gathering wisps of darkness that form into it, and all of a sudden the Turk is attacking _him_ , torturing _him_.

Torture. It’s surprisingly hard to torture yourself with the severity he tortures others.

But the Turk makes do.

He vaguely realizes that he’s been standing in his doorway, not a single step taken, staring at the part of the wall that has paint chipping off of it.

From where it made him bang his head against the wall until he almost had a concussion.

His feet hurt.

“ _Good._ ”

He’s really hungry.

“ _Good._ ”

He falls to the floor on his knees. It’s even more uncomfortable.

The Turk clicks its tongue. “ _Coward._ ”

He has to stop the Turk from making his torture so obvious.

Cissnei had noticed when he was only eating a couple of crackers for his meals. He was dragged into Tseng’s office once because their annual lab test revealed that he was getting severely dehydrated. Rude catches him picking at scabs, digging his fingernails into the open wound until he taps on his shoulder and tells him they’re caked in his own blood. And he always laughs it off, because that’s our Reno, always the hyperactive one, can’t even focus on or remember the things he needs to do to survive!

…

He almost doesn’t deserve to survive.

After all the lives he’s ruined? Why should he keep his? Natural selection’s gonna get him at some point, there’s no point in denying it. That’s just how nature is, it removes the unworthy.

At least, that’s what the Turk tells him.

The Turk is really shitty. It loves making Reno suffer.

The Turk loves to bring back the images of the smoking plate, of all the screams he could hear even from the helicopter, of the absolute look of _fury_ in the blond SOLDIER's eyes. And then the Turk gives him more, gives him images of him pinning the blond down and shoving his hand so hard against his throat that he forces his Adam's Apple to touch the backbone of his neck. Then he curls his fingers around until they sink into his flesh and he makes contact with his esophagus, and he manages to pull it out and the SOLDIER tries to scream as he’s being ripped apart organ by organ but he can’t so he just gurgles in his own blood as the man above him continues to rip out his innards like a child opening a Starlight present, a child now without a home and a family because oh yeah, _he had killed them-_

His phone vibrates in his back pocket. It brings him back to reality, makes him realize that there are tears streaming down his cheeks and dripping onto the hardwood floor of his apartment. Away from the Sector 7 slums. No blond SOLDIER. No guts.

He numbly feels around for his phone and unlocks it.

**_Partner:_ ** _Make sure you get some rest. Boss is giving you the next couple days off_

 **_Partner:_ ** _I’ll drop off some food tomorrow with some bottled water_

God. Rude.

He starts typing a message back.

_I dont deserve it_

He deletes it. Stares at the screen for a few seconds. Maybe minutes.

Then types again.

_Sure thing partner see ya tmrw_

He gets a thumbs-up emoticon in response. It makes him snort.

He really…really doesn’t deserve this. 


End file.
